


Tripping

by Natashasolten



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natashasolten/pseuds/Natashasolten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has a lot on his mind, including not being able to stop thinking about Danny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tripping

**Author's Note:**

> When I was 12 I wrote 4 little one-page H50 fics (I loved Jack Lord!) I had no idea there was such a thing as fanfic (not to mention slashfic,) but I found I was writing various ways to get Steve and/or Danno to trip and fall and the other to catch him. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, I just knew I liked the idea. So when I challenged myself to write new H50, I decided to write my much more adult, matured version of that old, old brain teaser of my kid-dom, and the story is called "Tripping." The backstory is funny, maybe, but the fic itself is quite serious.

All the while Danny tries so hard to annoy Steve, talking, always talking, trying to rile him, irritate him, anger him, Steve is actually soaking it up. Attention is attention and Danny is focused. Steve likes that. Steve likes that Danny thinks, that he speaks his mind, that he isn’t afraid to stand up to him. He likes that, really a lot, and the more he seems to bask in Danny’s tirades, the more Danny keeps it up using words like “issues,” and – goddamnit - “Army,” and “protocol,” and calling him “Steven.” The more Steve enjoys this, the more annoyed and louder Danny becomes. It’s ironic. Secretly, stealthily, Steve loves irony.

He hears, “Blah, blah, blah, pineapple on pizza” and “blah, blah what’s with all the hot rain” and “blah blah need serious driving lessons.” While he loves Danny’s opinions, all of them, he will admit he does not hear every word, or even every other word. It’s not that he’s not a good listener. He’s a fantastic listener…women have always told him so. It’s that Danny is so overwhelming emotionally that he literally can’t hear every word. With Danny there is always this kind of fog in Steve’s mind. When he thinks of him. When he looks at him. This broad little impish blond guy whirling around him, always fiery and looking like he just ate a grenade makes him feel happier than he’s ever felt in a long time. That fog… it’s hard to figure. With one well-placed fist he could wallop him into silence, stillness. He could just make it all stop. But he doesn’t want to, because strangely this guy is all about him. Everything Danny does circles Steve. And Steve is flattered, is hypnotized by this interesting energy, this bizarre wind that takes up space around him on the job and off, when they go out to kick ass or kick back a few beers. It’s intoxicating. Danny is like the thrill of a hurricane party while someone is on the cell phone at your ear telling you you’re stupid, you should get out, you’re an idiot, and you just sit there with the music blaring, the windows boarded up, grinning like a full-on fool. Danny is that intense.

Yeah, one well-placed fist. That would do it. But Steve doesn’t want to tame him. Broken horses make him sad. But stroking the wild one on the nose…what a high. Maybe it will buck, nip, kick, but all the time you’re stroking and it’s looking you in the eye you can feel your heart flare up, the wildness of existence, of just goddamn taking your next breath. Nothing compares.

Yeah, Danny is like that. And Steve’s never known anyone like him.

*

Steve is rocking back in his desk chair, arms crossed against his chest and staring over Danny’s white-clad shoulder while Danny is waving papers at him, talking about paperwork, and the goddamned printer running out of ink. Then he starts ranting about what story he needs to concoct this time to explain more broken doors and windows, and perhaps an excess use of ammunitions. Now he looks at Danny’s surf-blue eyes, slicked hair, strong jaw, awful tie and his mind goes foggy again. Danny’s voice whirls over and around him. It’s unhappy, that voice, always unhappy. So why is that sound so reassuring to Steve? Why does he find himself just basking? It’s not the words. It’s the tone. Like Danny is asking him for something, telling him something in between the words, like there’s a secret code he’s unconsciously unraveling. It’s all about him. Something Danny wants from him. Something Danny needs. All the time. Every day.

Steve looks up from the hideous tie and smiles at him. For a second, Danny just stops. Stops everything. Including breathing. It’s truly delightful. And Steve has him. It’s that easy. But only for that one second. One second…

Then Danny says, “What’re you smiling about? There’s nothing to smile about. Everything’s fucked up and I have to clean up the mess.”

“What mess?” Steve asks. He gestures toward the papers in Danny’s hand. “You look like you’re already done with it.”

“But it took me an extra hour. And it’s all your fault.”

Steve takes a deep breath, says, “Steaks.”

“What?”

“I want steaks for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. You look hungry. I’ll buy.”

Now Danny just stands there, mouth open, as if he’s waiting for some writer to come along and put words on his tongue.

Steve grins, hops up from his chair, pats him on the back. “C’mon.”

Danny puts the papers on Steve’s desk and turns. “I hate you.”

“I know that.” He glances over his shoulder. “So what’re you waiting for?”

Danny grabs his jacket and follows him out the door.

*

Before dinner comes, Danny is still complaining about the new report. How much extra work Steve makes for them when they don’t follow protocol. How life is complicated enough as it is, and why can’t they actually think things through sometimes.

“Didn’t I tell you ‘thank you’?” Steve asks blandly.

“Well…yeah…”

“Okay, then. It’s done. Thank you for writing it. And I’ll give you double pay on the extra hour, okay?”

Danny blinks. And even though Danny is on salary, that actually shuts him up for a minute. Steve smiles at him. Danny smiles back. Steve picks up the wine bottle and tops off his glass. Danny stares at it, then just sighs, and finally his body relaxes. He slumps a little.

And dinner is served.

Danny is unhappy a lot of the time, Steve observes. It’s not like Steve’s own life is brilliant and perfect. It’s actually a fucking mess. He has a lot of shit in his brain that won’t ever go away, stuff that sometimes makes it hard for him to sleep. But when you know that about yourself, and you know there’s nothing you can do, it feels good to go outside yourself and worry a little about other people. It takes the pressure off the self.

So making Danny feel better about stuff like his daughter and settling into the alien brightness that is Hawaii feels right, good. It’s purely selfish at first. Steve likes how it makes him feel inside when Danny finally smiles, or gives in, or tells him, “Yeah, you were right but I still think you’re crazy.”

When it changes, though, when Steve finds himself really starting to care about Danny and how he’s doing and if he’s tired or hungry or too hot or too cold, then things inside him start to twist up again. The pleasure he takes in Danny’s bizarre, whirlwind bitch of a personality takes on a different tone. He finds he seeks Danny out even more. He wants to be with him all the time. When he invites Danny over to his house for a barbeque, or a night game on his big screen TV, he hates it when Danny leaves. He wants him with him. He wants to smell him. He wants to touch him.

And he can tell Danny wants something from him, too. But Danny won’t ever ask about that part.

Even when Danny isn’t with him, he’s in Steve’s mind. When Steve is swimming in the warm ocean on clear mornings the waves are Danny’s voice. The sea is Danny’s presence. The fresh sweet air is Danny’s scent.

When he goes into his big, lonely house still dripping salt water, damp and cool and slightly breathless, he stares at the beer bottles left behind on the coffee table, at Danny’s cup in the sink. He doesn’t want to throw away the trash. He doesn’t want to wash the cup. They make him feel as if he’s not alone. As if someone else is here in the house. That sense of a presence keeps him company.

Danny, Danno, Daniel Williams. He hears himself speak those names out loud.

Then he shakes his head at himself, presses his thumbs to the soft skin between his eyebrows, and tells himself, “Steve-o, buddy, you need to chill.”

*

He hears as if from a distance. “Steve. Steve. Steven!” Danny snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face.

Steve blinks. Looks up into white Hawaiian sunlight and a silvery, wavering apparition that looks like Danny. Smells like Danny.

For a moment he wonders what he’s doing sitting on the ground. Has he been hit? Were they on a case? A chase? A stakeout?

A warm hand slides against his palm, tugs. Steve is up and standing before he’s ready, before he can assess the situation. Danny’s hand stays clasped to his a little longer as he hears Danny say, “What the fuck did you trip over?”

The world is slowly re-building itself around him. Good training reminds him not to show anything on his face. This has happened to him before, but not in a long, long time. Nothing tripped him. Except maybe a glitch in his own mind. But he looks around as if trying to find the offending object. Playing into Danny’s version of events. “I don’t know. Must’a been a rock, a pothole?” They’re standing in a parking lot where the asphalt is black and smooth.

Danny’s giving him a wry grin. “Hey, do SEALs normally trip over their own feet?”

“All the time, actually.” The joke sounds lame, but Danny laughs. Even if it’s a nervous laugh, he still gifts him with it.

Steve forces a smile, looks away. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He doesn’t want to even try to remember what he was thinking about before he fell because it’s no good, no good. He stares off at the beach, trying to remember why they came here. The salt air is tart. Birds are crying in the air. The ocean in its steady, trembling voice says everything is all right. All right.

Then Danny’s voice comes to him softer than normal, strange, as if to say the same thing – everything is all right – as if Danny is reading his mind. What Danny actually says is: “We came to interrogate the sister, remember?”

“Of course I remember!” he lies.

“Well then quit dallying.” But Danny’s hand is on his back very lightly, almost as if it’s not there. But it is. And part of him is grateful. But really he’s more grateful that Danny’s being normal with him. Quit dallying. That is all he needs to hear. It grounds him. It focuses him.

“I’m not dallying, I’m just slowing down so you can keep up.”

Danny snorts. “Like you could beat me in any race.”

“Swimming,” Steve says.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Jumping.”

“Eh…yeah.”

“Running.”

“Hey, I got a bad knee. So what’s your point?”

“Just sayin’.” Except that right now Steve is so shaky Danny could beat him at breathing. Yeah, this hasn’t happened in a long time. And he knows what brought it on. But he’s not going to think about that. He’s just not.

*

Case closed. All in all a productive day. Steve is feeling real good. He likes the way the Hawaiian sunset flows through the windows turning his office orange and gold, the way his stomach lightly growls, the way anticipation of a lethargic evening hovers on the edges of 6 o’clock. Then there’s the way Danny just sort of crashes through his office door.

“There you are! Sitting on your ass just as I thought. Everyone’s booked. The paperwork’s filed. The dishes are done. The dog is fed. What’ve you been doing?”

Steve just smiles at him. God he loves Danny. “Planning dinner?”

Danny scoffs. “You’re always trying to placate me with food!”

“You like food.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What’s your point?”

Danny’s hands go into his pockets. “Maybe I need a little acknowledgement is all.”

“I’m acknowledging you. Let’s go to dinner.”

“You paying?”

“Don’t I always?”

Danny huffs, hisses a little, does a half pirouette on the slippery floor. “Okay but I get to drive.”

Of course Steve plans on driving. But he says nothing.

*

They watch the surfers glide in and out in the twilight. The sea is sparkling black and pink and blue. The restaurant caters to a lot of tourists but Danny seems to like it. Steve knew he would.

“How come we never came here before?” Danny asks. He keeps commenting that the food is fantastic.

Steve just shrugs, glad that Danny seems happy if only for this moment.

Dessert comes. Sweet. Maybe almost as sweet as Danny sounds when he says, casually, “And it’s not true that Navy SEALs always trip on nothing.”

Steve feels that flutter of panic, but at the same time he’s flattered. Danny is thinking about him. About him. “Navy, eh? Not Army?”

Danny says, “Hey, I learn. I’m just a little slow sometimes.”

“Nah, you do it deliberate.”

“Do not.”

“Do, too.” Steve smiles.

And Danny squints up at him bluely with a kind of innocent little boy mischief look mixed with concern. “Seriously, Steve, are you all right?”

At that moment, with perfect timing, the waiter comes with the bill. Steve picks it up with a flourish, is up and moving. Danny is left to sit and stare at his back, or follow. Naturally, Danny follows.

In the truck, Danny says, “My apartment’s that way,” as Steve heads in the opposite direction.

Steve replies, “There’s a game on. I thought my place.”

“Well, you didn’t ask.”

“I know.”

“Well, I can’t read your mind, doofus!”

“Want to come to my place?”

“Why?”

“I told you, there’s a game on.”

“No. Why?”

Steve realizes Danny is, in fact, reading his mind. The game is an excuse. “I wanna get drunk and I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Okay, then. Your place.” Danny acquiesces way too quickly.

The flutter of panic starts again in Steve’s stomach. But he’s good at ignoring stuff like that. Expert.

*

One beer later they’re on Steve’s couch. The game is on. But Steve is only half listening. Danny catches him staring out the window after a major touchdown. He’s not fooled.

Danny reaches as if to grab his second beer, but Steve watches him take the remote instead. The TV goes mute. Then Danny turns on the couch, crosses his legs, leans forward on his knees. “Okay, McGarrett. Give.”

Steve glances at those wide eyes. Danny’s not being flip anymore. “Hmm?”

“Something’s on your mind.” Danny leans a little more toward him.

Steve thinks it’s great. Danny moving closer without even being provoked. He likes it. He sets his beer down on the table. Smiles at him, at the fog that starts to come up from Danny just being there.

But Danny says, “That smile of yours is not an answer.”

“What smile?” Steve asks.

Danny smirks. “It’s that evasive, secretive, I have something up my sleeve and I’m not going to tell anybody not even Danny smile.”

Steve has no response. He’s looking at Danny and Danny is right there, all about him, and it’s so right and fine that he just does not want to move, or to change anything at all about this scene. Danny is with him, strong and grounding. Accusing but cute. He can handle it. He wants to freeze this scene: Danny on his couch leaning on his knees, tie off, top two buttons of his white shirt undone, a wisp of usually tidy hair curling against his forehead. He likes the compactness of Danny. The aura of Danny. That all encompassing coiled energy. Danny’s broad shoulders and strong arms just might do the trick. Hold him down. Keep him in place. Wrestle the sleeplessness from his too-lost eyes, cure the tense emptiness of this house.

Then Danny is talking again, and Steve feels his body relax and tingle at the voice, at the words. “I tell you everything. Everything about my life. I spill my guts. Every day. But it’s like you don’t really hear me. You don’t really see me.”

“I see you.”

Danny keeps going as if Steve never spoke. “If you heard me maybe you’d let me have my way sometimes. Instead I tell you I want to drive and you don’t say a word, you just get in the driver’s seat and off we go. You decide where we go for dinner. You tell me we’re going to your house but you don’t even ask me first…”

“Are you complaining or observing?”

Danny goes quiet for a second and suddenly Steve is sorry because he really likes the ranting. Really. It makes him crazy for Danny. He wants to hear him to remind himself that Danny is alive and caring and hot under the skin about everything, opinionated, daring, questioning, passionate, burning.

Finally Danny says, “Observing, of course. I have no complaints.”

Steve feels his smile stretch. He reaches out casually, touches Danny on the knee. “Okay, then, keep going.”

Danny frowns at the suggestion. “Huh?”

“Go on,” Steve says quietly, holding his gaze. “I’m listening.”

Danny stares at where Steve’s fingers rest against his bent knee. “You distracted me. I don’t remember what I was saying.”

“You said I didn’t ask you if you wanted to come to the house; I just drove us here.”

“Oh yeah. That. You know there’s two sides to any relationship, a give and take sort of thing…”

“Relationship?” Steve interrupts. He can’t let that one go. He’s just too…too pleased with that word.

Danny looks back down at his knee where Steve’s fingers rest. He takes a deep breath, glares a little, and says, “Well, yeah. We’ve been…well…dating for weeks now, right?”

Steve never thought of it quite like that. He asks, “Dating?”

“You buy me expensive wine.”

“And beer. Dating?” There is laughter trying to bubble up inside him. It feels fantastically funny and good.

Danny looks back down at his knee. “Well. Yeah.”

“Are you coming onto me?”

“You’re buying the wine.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“You asked me out. Every time! And we haven’t even gotten to the relevant point yet.” Danny pushes at Steve’s hand against his knee. “Because you keep distracting me!”

“What point?”

“That if we’re in a relationship it’s still all one-sided. I tell you everything. You tell me…nothing.”

Steve loves that Danny doesn’t even seem fazed by the subject. But what did he expect? Shock? A fit?

“Steve, I can’t…I won’t…this isn’t going to work if you can’t even talk to me!”

The mirth inside Steve starts to fade. The jittery almost-panic threatens. But the fog returns and it’s comforting and white. It’s Danny. That’s all Steve needs. Wants. He says, “You know about my parents. My background. My sister. You know a lot about me.”

“Yeah, but Steven, buddy, you passed out on me today!”

Steve back pedals. “Not really. I just fell.”

Now Danny reaches for Steve’s hand, still nearby but not on his knee anymore. He grabs it hard. “No you didn’t. I was there. I saw.”

Steve swallows. He likes the firmness of Danny’s hand, the grip. He craves the strength. “It won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again? You won’t even tell me.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“You’re all secretive and stressed. Preoccupied to say the least. You can’t hide that from me.”

“I’m not.”

“You fell goddammit. In a parking lot! You’re a grown man, not to mention a SEAL, and you fell.”

“Tripped…”

“Goddammit, this isn’t going to work!”

Steve watches as Danny jerks away, starts to stand, and the panic that was threatening turns to a different kind of fear. He almost had him and he’s blowing it. He had Danny’s hand in his. “Please don’t leave.”

Danny turns, stares down at him. His head tilts. The blue eyes look hot and hurt and pissed and disappointed. He’s fucking irresistible.

“Okay,” Steve says. He reaches out. “Okay.”

Danny sits again, but he doesn’t take his hand. For once he’s silent. He’s waiting, and Steve wants that silence filled again, desires it more than anything, please, just talk, but when Danny still just looks at him with a kind of distrusting patience, silent, still, Steve suddenly hears the void fill with something else this time, his own voice, his own dialog, and he’s not even sure what he’s saying but Danny never looks away. The muscles in Danny’s face go soft, young, and he listens, he listens, and Steve says, “It used to happen more. A long, long time ago.” His voice strains. He’s trying hard to explain. Says words like, “shell shock,” and tells him he saw a doctor for it but that was years ago. Years. He was younger back then. He can handle it. He’s fine. It’s not serious.

Steve realizes their hands are touching again and he doesn’t even know when that happened. Finally, Danny speaks. “But, Steve, if that was years ago, what brought it on today? What’s going on?”

“I saw Wo Fat.” Just saying the name makes his heart flutter but he forces himself to stay utterly still.

“On the golf course that one time, right?”

“No. Not that one time.”

Danny stares at him. “Go on.”

“He’s linked to Hesse.”

“We know that. Hesse worked with him.”

“No, Hesse works for him.”

Danny assesses that for a moment.

“Danny, Wo Fat is responsible for the deaths of both my parents. And I… He knows everything. Everything about me.”

Danny’s not stupid. Steve can see the light of awareness brighten in his eyes. He knows what this means. He knows Steve will never be able to sleep until it’s done.

Finally, Danny just nods. “So…”

“Yeah,” Steve answers.

Then suddenly both Danny’s hands lift up and his palms are against Steve’s temples. It happens so fast, the warmth of Danny’s touch, the pulse of it. Danny’s thumbs trace the outline of Steve’s eyebrows. They press the soft skin between his eyebrows very gently, just where Steve presses when he feels a headache coming on, or the encroaching vastness of his silent house. He leans close. Real close. Steve can feel his breath on his face. Then Danny says, almost choked, almost pissed, but soft and resigned, “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”

Steve moves back under those hands until he’s on his back. Danny follows, still pressing Steve’s eyebrows, still holding his head. “Please don’t do anything stupid,” he whispers. “Please.”

Steve feels the weight of Danny, then. So wonderful. So grounding. His arms come up. Danny’s still stroking his temples as he leans in and kisses Steve gently, then harder. Steve grasps him around the back, such a solid relief. He opens his mouth.

When Danny lets up for air they’re both breathing pretty hard. Danny says, “Please,” again. And when Steve doesn’t answer, Danny says, “Fuck, just don’t. Because I just found you. And I don’t want to lose you.”

That blissful fog. It’s warm and sweet and heavy and so-Danny. “You won’t lose me. I promise.” His hand travels up Danny’s back until it’s at the nape of Danny’s neck. He pulls him into a long kiss.

Danny’s lips trail across his cheek, and he says into Steve’s ear, “You can’t promise something like that.”

“I can. I am.”

“I want to believe you,” Danny says, hands going under Steve’s black t-shirt.

Steve pushes up. Starts to undo the rest of Danny’s buttons.

Steve’s shirt goes over his head, gets thrown toward the TV. Danny’s is almost torn from his arms and follows.

Danny’s palms go up Steve’s chest. Steve’s hands grip Danny’s powerful, tanned shoulders. They come together, still trouser-clad, grinding against one another, kissing deeper, deeper, until Danny pulls back. “Christ!” And he’s undoing Steve’s cargo pants, shoving hard, moving to the side…it seems he can’t get them off Steve fast enough.

Always fiery. Always moving. The fever that is Danny.

Steve is burning up. Steve is touching his hair, his face, his chest, his sides as Danny moves over him kissing him, licking his way down his chest, fingers fluttering against his stomach.

Too much fog. Too much pleasure. Too good.

Danny’s mouth is at his groin, then on him and Steve feels himself slowly moving his hips as Danny’s mouth moves against him, as his tongue soothes and swirls, driving him mad. All thought is extinguished. Awareness is a pinpoint of pleasure so intense it’s as if he’s breaking up. He calls out. “Danny! Danny! Dan…oh!” And everything explodes. The universe is destroyed. Nothing will ever be the same again.

If only he could rebuild it to suit himself, if only that kind of magic were real. No Wo Fat. No Hesse. His father and mother still alive. And the brightness that is the lie of Hawaii a reality.

He reaches up. Danny is in his arms, all soft and burning and edges and hardness surrounding him, encompassing him, stroking him, kissing him. And he feels himself gathered up, and hears Danny saying things he doesn’t understand. “It’s all right. It’s gonna be all right. I’m here. I won’t let you go.”

Why he’s saying those things, Steve doesn’t know. The fog is still everywhere. But his face is pressed hard to Danny’s neck and Danny’s arms and legs and whole body surround him.

Later, they go upstairs to Steve’s bedroom and repeat the act, only this time he’s a lot more attentive to Danny. Steve’s not the kind of guy who’s satisfied easily. Danny coming in his pants might be flattering, but Danny deserves a little more attention than that, acknowledgement if nothing else.

Danny’s body feels so good against him, squirming, moving, hot like the sun, and like the warm sea, leaving no part of him untouched.

Danny is warm twilight. He tastes like evening rain. Now his body moves against Steve like electric air and moist yearning and youthful strength. They fit so perfectly there is no thought involved.

Then Danny says his name, “Steven. Steven.” Over and over. And he’s coming hard against Steve’s hands, Steve’s mouth.

Afterward, still twined together, Danny whispers, “You can’t be stupid anymore. I just won’t let you.”

Steve kisses him on shoulder. Loving Danny is so easy. Obeying him will be harder. But for now, he just says, “Okay, Danno. Okay.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work by Natasha Solten, click [here](https://www.amazon.com/Wendy-Rathbone/e/B00B0O9BMS/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1) and check out her m/m romances on Amazon under her non-fanfic name: Wendy Rathbone. 
> 
> Click [here](http://eepurl.com/cqDVcX) to subscribe to her newsletter! Thanks so much for reading. I love fanfic!


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